


Out For A Jog

by SaxSpieler



Series: Verǫld Vǫrðr [13]
Category: Runescape
Genre: Comedic fluff, F/M, Gen, OC/canon character pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 02:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7994935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaxSpieler/pseuds/SaxSpieler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finley, while out for a rooftop jog, gets an unexpected exercise partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out For A Jog

**Author's Note:**

> Incoming Desert Ship! This was a collaboration between myself and the lovely zarosiancovenant from tumblr and DA! She wrote the outline/skeleton, I wrote the rest, and the prompt came from one of our Skype chats.
> 
> Takes place shortly after Nomad's Elegy.

The rooftops of Al Kharid had been Finley’s stomping ground for the past week or so.

Her left arm - what was left of it, anyway - still stung from the sheer amount of magic that had been forced through the flesh and bone just below the elbow. She neither begrudged the fact that she’d lost the arm during her trip to the Grim Underworld just a month and a half prior, nor the man who had taken it, however. She’d made a mistake - made a misjudgement, even - and had paid for it. No grudges would fix that.

She had no time for grudges with the - most likely - dead, anyway. There was a world to save - an apocalypse on a universal scale to avert - and she was determined to do so, one-handed if need be.

Such was her reason for standing on the crafting shop in the north-eastern quarter of the city, preparing to run across the plank balanced there and slide down the awning on the other side. This was part of her healing - regaining mobility, balance, and confidence. She silently thanked Ozan for running her through this particular rooftop route again, years after they had first taken it.

Just as she placed a foot on the plank and gauged her balance however, the back of her neck prickled slightly.

She wasn’t alone.

“Hello, there!”

The bright, too enthusiastic voice, carrying a slight Kharidian accent, drew her attention from the plank and over to the other edge of the roof, where a lanky, heavily-tanned man who looked around her age stood.

“Aye, hello,” she replied, raising her remaining hand slightly.

“Nice day for a jog, isn’t it?” Flashing a wide smile, he approached. There was an odd familiarity about him; perhaps it was the set of his pervasively freckled cheeks or the way his light-brown eyes crinkled at the edges. Yet, no matter how much she wracked her memory, it was absent of him.

“Aye, it is,” she said, returning his smile and dismounting from the plank. “And jumping about, balancing on things, and the sort.”

“Mind if I join you?” He edged closer. A little too close, in fact. So close that Finley could see the slight variations in the color of his hair - ranging from a mid-toned, dusty brown to a sun-kissed blonde. “I’m in need of some exercise as well.”

An eyebrow wiggled after that statement.

She balked, but not just at the eyebrow - it had been a long time since anyone had offered to accompany her on a jog. Or a rooftop obstacle course, for that matter.

After a moment, however, she nodded. Perhaps having an exercise partner would be fun and take her mind off the repetition.

“Aye, you can if you want,” she said, stepping back onto the plank. “Just follow me.”

The path was familiar to her: across the plank, down the awning, across the washing line (her practice had, thankfully, paid off this time), and so on. Finally, she reached the dreaded wooden frame that required swinging from hand to hand to get across and paused for a moment.

With only one hand at her disposal, this was the hardest obstacle.

“Oooh, your hair is nice. What do you wash it with?” She jumped at the voice - the man was much too close now, his nose practically in her ear.

“Will ye give me some space, ye bastard?” she hissed, warding him off with her arm-stump. “I can’t do this while yer standin’ with yer head nearly up my arse!”

He chuckled thickly, eyes narrowing.

“Can’t say I don’t like the sound of that…”

“What was that?!?”

“Nothing, nothing…” Holding up his hands, he took a couple steps back.

“Right…”

Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the frame and gauged the distance to the center rung as she had several times before. A slight step back and a great leap forward later, and her hand snagged the rung, nearly jolting her shoulder out of its socket. Again.

Her shoulder would be screaming at her the next morning, no doubt.

Taking a couple deep breaths, she began to swing in the direction of the next platform, and, with a yawp, flung herself the rest of the way across the gap, landing unceremoniously on her knees with an audible crunch.

Huffing, she rolled over, massaging what was likely to become a bruise later.

“Alright!” She heard clapping from the other side of the frame. “Good job!” The man then swung himself easily across the frame, landing crisply where she had a minute before. Grinning, he held out a hand to help her up.

Without thinking, she placed her hand in his and allowed her to be pulled back to her feet…

…and spun around into a rather risque backwards hug.

“You’re quite the athlete, you know,” the man purred, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder. “I do hope that prowess extends past running around rooftops and swinging from scaffolds…”

“Back off!” She jabbed an elbow into his stomach and not-so-gently shoved him away. “I’m taken, if that means anything to you, dozy nit.”

“Oh, really?” he asked, stepping back into her personal space as if the earlier shove meant nothing to him. “You’re with someone?”

“Aye, he’s kind, funny, ripped, and right handsome, too.” Before he could step closer, she took off again, bounding onto the next roof and jogging through the kebab-flavored smoke rising from the chimney there.

When the smoke passed, however, the man was jogging alongside her.

“I bet I could take him!” he called over the wind. “He’s, maybe what, like 5'5”?“

Finley blew air between her lips in an expression of severe doubt and quickened her pace.

“Is he here now? I’d fight him for you.”

“Aw, for fuck’s sake - can you just give me some peace?”

Not waiting for an answer, she leapt from the kebab store roof, and, using the taut awning below as a springboard, cleared the alleyway and landed solidly on the roof of Al Kharid’s bank.

As she ran, she heard an exclamation of surprise, followed by a drawn out yell and an almost satisfying _thunk_ as the man followed her path. It took him a while to catch up after that, and, when he finally did, he was panting hard, sweat running freely down his face.

“You should know,” he huffed, “that you make him - your boyfriend, I mean - very happy!”

_Aye, that’s enough._

Finley planted her heels and came to a full stop just next to the grappling rope Ozan had secured there years ago. Turning, she grabbed the man by shirt and held him at arm’s length. Her eyes sparked blue and hardened.

“Listen, ye little sod. I don’t know who the fuck ye are, but yer seriously interrupting my otherwise pleasant day off. Who the fuck are ye?”

“It’s beyond rude to inquire so openly of a stranger,” the man said simply with yet another grin.

“Do I look like I care? Anyway, my boyfriend is none of yer damn business!”

Disgusted, she released his collar and turned her attention back to the grappling rope.

“Oh, he is very much my business…as are you…”

_Too far._

Her hand shot out, fingers biting into the man’s shoulder. Like an iron vice, she held him, pushing him back toward the far end of the roof.

“I’ll ask ye one last time. Who are ye, and why are ye putting your spotty little nose where it doesn’t belong?”

The man winced, trying to maintain his insufferably smug smile, but didn’t answer beyond that.

There was a calm moment when her grip was as tight as it could go, where they just stood facing each other.

She raised an eyebrow, waiting for his answer.

He _winked._

Snarling, Finley drove her skull viciously into his with a _crack,_ and the man staggered backwards off the roof with a groan.

A soft _thump_ sounded from below.

_Oh…bollocks. What did I just do?_

Finley rushed to the edge of the roof to make sure she hadn’t inadvertently killed the man.

Miraculously, he had landed face-down in a hay cart, his fall cushioned. Abandoning her obstacle course, she climbed down the jutting brickwork of the bank and approached the cart cautiously. The man was motionless, but his back rose and fell rhythmically - he was still alive.

For a while, she stood staring down at the man, massaging the point on her forehead where she had headbutted him. Sighing, she brushed her hair back in exasperation before letting her hand rest on her cheek as she thought.

He’d probably be okay if she just…left him. He was still breathing, at least, and - she gingerly probed his forehead and neck to check - his skull and spine weren’t broken.

He would wake up with a horrible bruise between his eyes and a lungfull of hay, but he would wake up all the same.

One thing occurred to her before she turned north and jogged off.

She dragged the cart, and him, to the shade cast by the bank building so that he wouldn’t be in the sun the whole time.

***

The sight of her camp welcomed her as she left the city limits of Lumbridge. Small, yet homey, it was her little bit of Rellekka, right here in Misthalin. The sight of the exquisitely carved tent poles made her heart soar with fond memories of her homeland. A banner fluttered in the breeze, providing comforting ambiance, and the smell of campfire smoke, wafting from the now smouldering coals of last night’s fire, tied it all together.

Her approach was halted, however, when she noticed a shadowed figure sprawled inside the tent. Leery, she stepped closer, idly wondering if she was going to have to butt anymore heads.

“Welcome home, Fin!” a voice called, the figure raising a hand and beckoning her inside. Smiling, she instantly relaxed and entered, tension and annoyance all but forgotten.

It was just Akthanakos, laying on her bedroll, a chunk of conjured ice held to his forehead as he propped himself up with an elbow.

“Oi, what happened to you?” she asked, peering down at him. He shrugged, pressing the ice tightly to his brow.

“Nothing much…Oh, I saw you out roof-jumping today.”

“You did? Why didn’t you join me? Could’ve used some better company than what I ended up with…”

“Oh? What happened?”

“I met some bawhead who didn’t know the meaning of personal space and thought it was funny to flirt with me and insult you at the same time.”

“What did you do?”

“I headbutted the dobber off a roof and into a hay cart…”

Akthanakos lifted the ice chunk from his head. A brow slowly raised, and he flashed a slightly lopsided grin, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

_Just like the…_

“Oh. _Oh no!”_

The realization sent her stomach tumbling, as if she had lost her balance on that accursed washing line once again.

“You headbutt harder than a camel kicks.“

In an instant, she regained her balance and waved her arm-stump dismissively in Akthanakos’ direction.

"You were being a right scunnersome creep! You brought what happened on that roof on yourself, aye? Ah…” She trailed off, seeing Akthanakos wince as he placed the ice chunk to his head once again. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, considering my two-story headbutt-induced swan dive…sorry I creeped you out.,” he chuckled sheepishly, eyes downcast. “That…wasn’t very smart of me.”

“Aye, it wasn’t.”

Turning away, she fished an apple from her pack propped up against a tent pole and busied herself with polishing its bright green skin on her tunic.

Akthanakos just lay there, icing his head.

Finley crunched her way through the very sour apple, feeling the spot on her head twitch slightly.

“So…you find me handsome?”

The question, coupled with a bite into what was a particularly sour patch of the apple, made Finley jump in surprise. Sucking her lips in, she risked a glance over at the Mahjarrat on her bedroll. He was leaning forward expectantly, the edges of his mouth quirked upwards.

She chewed slowly before swallowing.

“Did…did I say that?”

“You did.”

“Ah.”

“Did you mean it?”

Finley took as big a bite of the apple as she could manage, crunching it noisily. Blush burned across the bridge of her nose like fire, and she mumbled something affirmative-sounding through her food.

A smug grin overtook Akthanakos’ face.

“What was that?” he asked.

She pointed at the apple sheepishly with a shrug.

“Alright - I can wait.” He lay back again, still smiling, and motioned for her to continue.

Though Finley drew out chewing the apple chunks already in her mouth to a ridiculous degree, it would soon be pointless to chew any longer. Each slow crunch brought her closer and closer to having to answer that Mahjarrat’s question.

The longer she took, the longer he waited, and the bigger his knowing smile grew.

When she had chewed until there was nothing left to masticate, Finley finally admitted defeat and swallowed the apple.

“Well?”

His smile was ear-to-ear, now.

The skin of the apple rested against her lips as she sighed.

“Of course I bloody meant it, love. I find you right damnably handsome, aye?”

Her teeth flashed, sinking once more into the apple, tearing off a large chunk, and she turned away to hide her embarrassment.

Why was this so _hard?_

Perhaps it was Akthanakos’ bluntness, his honesty, and his insistence on transparency. Where Finley was far more used to subtle cues and caresses than blatant and verbal displays of affection, Akthanakos was more apt to pick her up in his arms and proclaim to the high heavens how he felt about her.

Which was exactly what happened next.

Arms latched around her from behind, lifting her skyward, and she was twirled around to the tune of Akthanakos’ glee.

Finley nearly choked on the apple chunk in her mouth.

A moment later, Finley _actually_ began to choke.

“OH!” Dropping her to her feet, Akthanakos made a fist with both hands at the base of her ribcage and drilled upward, hard. Finley coughed up the apple like a cork gun, going limp in his hold and wheezing in relief.

“I’m sorry!”

“I’m alright…I’m alright…” She retched, but nothing else came up. “Aye, I’m fine…” He sat her down on the bedroll, still hugging her to his chest.

“I really am sorry, you know,” he began, the remnants of glee still peppering his voice. “I-”

“Aw, ‘s alright, love. All that talk about you not minding the thought of putting your head up my arse…” she trailed off with a laugh, the sound morphing into a cough as a stray bit of apple tried to repeat the choke-fest from earlier. “I don’t mind that coming from _you,_ aye? I do mind it coming from the mouth of a stranger.”

“Then I won’t be a stranger next time. I’ll make it obvious and give myself the head of a camel, like I had when we first met.”

“Aye, _that’s_ original,” she chuckled, settling deeper against his chest and relishing the beginnings of that rumbling purr she could never get enough of.

Nuzzling at her hair, Akthanakos cooed in Infernal.

_‘Your hair really does smell nice.’_


End file.
